Start with why

Real Trust Comes from the Things You Can’t See
“Rambo 2,” said the voice over Brigadier General Jumper’s radio, referring to
him by his call sign. “Your group 180, twenty-five miles, closing fast.”
“Barnyard radar contact,” replied Rambo 2, reporting that he had picked up
the enemy group on his own radar. A one-star general, John Jumper was an
experienced F-15 pilot with thousands of hours of flight time and over a
thousand combat hours. By all measures, he was one of the best. Born in Paris,
Texas, he had enjoyed a distinguished career. He’d flown just about everything
the U.S. Air Force had, from cargo planes to fighter jets. Decorated and
distinguished, the commander of his own combat wing, he was the embodiment
of what it meant to be a fighter pilot. Smart and confident.
But on that day, Jumper’s reaction didn’t match the situation he faced. By
twenty-five miles, he would have been expected to fire his weapons or take some
other offensive movement. Fearing that Jumper was locked onto the wrong
contact on his radar, Captain Lori Robinson calmly repeated what she could see
from miles away: “Rambo 2 confirm radar contact YOUR group now 190
twenty miles.”
As the air weapons controller who was watching the action on her radar
screen from a nearby command-and-control center, it was Lori Robinson’s job to
direct the pilot toward enemy aircraft so that he could use his weapons to
intercept and destroy them. Unlike an air traffic controller, whose job it is to
keep air traffic apart, the weapons controller has to bring the planes closer
together. From the vantage point of the radar screen, only the weapons controller
has the big picture, as the pilot’s onboard navigation system shows only what’s
directly in front of the aircraft.
Captain Robinson saw her job as something bigger, however, than just staring
at radar, something more profound than just being the eyes and ears for the pilots
who were hurtling into harm’s way at 1,500 mph. Captain Robinson knew WHY
her job was important. She saw herself as responsible for clearing a path for the
pilots in her care so that they could do what they needed to do, so they could
push themselves and their aircraft further with greater confidence. And for this
reason, she was unusually good at her job. Robinson couldn’t make mistakes. If
she did, she would lose the trust of her pilots and, worse, they would lose trust in
themselves. You see, it’s confidence that makes fighter pilots so good at their
jobs.

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And then it happened. Captain Robinson could tell from the calm of Jumper’s
voice over the radio that he was unaware of the threat coming at him. On a
cloudless day, 20,000 feet over the desert, the alarm screeched in Rambo 2’s $25
million, state-of-the-art fighter jet. He looked up from his radar screen and saw
the enemy engaging him. “BREAK RIGHT! BREAK RIGHT!” he screamed
into his radio. On October 9, 1988, Brigadier General John P. Jumper was killed.
Captain Robinson waited. There was an eerie calm. Before too long, Jumper
stormed into the debriefing room at Nellis Air Force Base. “You got me killed!”
he barked at Captain Robinson. Situated in the Nevada desert, Nellis is home to
the Air Force Fighter Weapons School, and on that day, General John Jumper
took a direct hit from a simulated missile from another U.S. Air Force jet playing
the part of an enemy combatant.
“Sir, it was not my fault,” Captain Robinson replied calmly. “Check the video.
You’ll see.” General Jumper, then the 57th Wing commander, a graduate of the
USAF Fighter Weapons School, and a former instructor at Nellis, routinely
evaluated every detail of every training mission he flew. Pilots often relied on
the video to learn from their exercises. The video didn’t lie. And it didn’t on that
day either. It revealed that the error was indeed his, not Captain Robinson’s. It
was a classic blunder. He had forgotten he was part of a team. He had forgotten
that what made him so good at his job was not just his ability. Jumper was one of
the best because there were others who were looking out for him. A massive
infrastructure of people he couldn’t see.
Without question General Jumper had been given the best equipment, the best
technology and the best training that money could buy. But it was the
mechanics, the teachers, his fellow pilots, the culture of the Air Force and
Captain Robinson who ensured that he could trust himself to get the job done.
General Jumper forgot WHY he was so good and made a split-second decision
that cost him his life. But this is what training is for, to learn these lessons.
Some sixteen years after his lesson over the Nevada desert, General Jumper
went on to big things. Now a retired four-star general, he served as chief of staff
of the U.S. Air Force from 2001 to 2005, the highest-ranking uniformed office in
the entire Air Force, responsible for the organization, training and equipping of
nearly 700,000 active-duty, guard, reserve and civilian forces serving in the
United States and overseas. As a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he, along
with the other service chiefs, advised the secretary of defense, the National
Security Council and the president.
This is not, however, a story about General Jumper. It is a story about Lori
Robinson. Now herself a brigadier general in the Air Force, she no longer has
her face down a scope. There are no more bogeys and bandits, the Air Force’s

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nicknames for the good guys and the bad guys, in her life. Even though her job
has changed, General Robinson still starts every day by reminding herself WHY
she came to work.
As much as she misses “her kids,” as she called those who served under her
command, General Robinson is still looking for ways she can clear a path for
others so that they can push themselves and the organization further. “The time
to think of yourself is done, it is not about you, it is about the lieutenants behind
you,” she’d remind her students when she was an instructor at the Fighter
Weapons School. “If enough of us do this,” she goes on, referring to WHY she
does what she does, “then we leave this military and this country in better shape
than we found it. And isn’t that the point?” And it is that sense of purpose, a
clear idea of WHY she comes to work, that has been the cornerstone of General
Robinson’s success. And that, incidentally, has been remarkable.
Working hard to clear a path for others so that they can confidently go on to
do bigger and better things has in turn inspired others to clear a path for General
Robinson to do exactly the same thing. As a woman in the very masculine world
of the military, she sets an example for how to lead. Great leadership is not about
flexing and intimidation; great leaders, as General Robinson proves, lead with
WHY. They embody a sense of purpose that inspires those around them.
General Robinson was so trusted as a weapons controller that it was not
unusual for pilots in training to request that she be assigned to them. “The
greatest compliment I ever got was when people would say, ‘When I go to war, I
want Lori on the radio,’” she says. She is the first woman in the history of the
Air Force to command the 552nd Air Control Wing out of Tinker Air Force
Base, one of the largest wings in Air Combat Command (the wing that flies the
AWACS airborne control aircraft—the fleet of Boeing 707s with the huge
rotating radar dishes on top). She is the first commander of a combat wing ever
who didn’t come up through the pilot ranks. She was the first female Weapons
School instructor to teach at the Air Force Fighter Weapons School, where the
Air Force trains all its top guns. There, she became the most celebrated teacher
in the ranks—winning best teacher seven classes in a row. She is the first female
director of the Secretary of the Air Force and Chief of Staff of the Air Force
Executive Action Group. In 2000, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said
of General Robinson, at the time still a captain, that she singularly influenced his
ideas on airpower. And the list goes on.
By any measure, General Lori Robinson is a remarkable leader. Some in
management positions operate as if they are in a tree of monkeys. They make
sure that everyone at the top of the tree looking down sees only smiles. But all
too often, those at the bottom looking up see only asses. Great leaders like

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General Robinson are respected by those both above and below. Those in her
command trust her implicitly because they know she’s committed to looking
after them. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t fix,” she was often heard
telling students at Fighter Weapons School. And those to whom she reports
show remarkable deference to her. “I don’t know how she gets away with half
the stuff she does,” say those who know her. More importantly, it is said with a
grin and with respect. General Robinson’s ability to lead developed not because
she’s the smartest or the nicest. She’s a great leader because she understands that
earning the trust of an organization doesn’t come from setting out to impress
everyone, it comes from setting out to serve those who serve her. It is the
invisible trust that gives a leader the following they need to get things done. And
in Lori Robinson’s case, things get done.
I use the military because it exaggerates the point. Trust matters. Trust comes
from being a part of a culture or organization with a common set of values and
beliefs. Trust is maintained when the values and beliefs are actively managed. If
companies do not actively work to keep their Golden Circle in balance—clarity,
discipline and consistency—then trust starts to break down. A company, indeed
any organization, must work actively to remind everyone WHY the company
exists. WHY it was founded in the first place. What it believes. They need to
hold everyone in the company accountable to the values and guiding principles.
It’s not enough to just write them on the wall—that’s passive. Bonuses and
incentives must revolve around them. The company must serve those whom they
wish to serve it.
With balance, those who are good fits can trust that everyone is on board for
the same reasons. It’s also the only way that each individual in the system can
trust that others are acting to “leave the organization in a better way than we
found it,” to quote General Robinson again. This is the root of passion. Passion
comes from feeling like you are a part of something that you believe in,
something bigger than yourself. If people do not trust that a company is
organized to advance the WHY, then the passion is diluted. Without managed
trust, people will show up to do their jobs and they will worry primarily about
themselves. This is the root of office politics—people acting within the system
for self-gain often at the expense of others, even the company. If a company
doesn’t manage trust, then those working for it will not trust the company, and
self-interest becomes the overwhelming motivation. This may be good for the
short term, but over time the organization will get weaker and weaker.
Herb Kelleher, the visionary behind Southwest Airlines, understood this better
than most. He recognized that to get the best out his employees he needed to
create an environment in which they felt like the company cared about them. He

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knew that they would naturally excel if they felt the work they did made a
difference. When a journalist asked Kelleher who comes first to him, his
shareholders or his employees, his response was heresy at the time (and to a
large degree still is). “Well, that’s easy,” he said, “employees come first and if
employees are treated right, they treat the outside world right, the outside world
uses the company’s product again, and that makes the shareholders happy. That
really is the way that it works and it’s not a conundrum at all.”

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